


Day Eighteen: The Cab Driver

by sanerontheinside



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Everything is consensual, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, Written for the QuiObi Writing Discord, mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-07
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanerontheinside/pseuds/sanerontheinside
Summary: Coruscant cab fares areexpensive.What's a broke college student to do?
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 114
Collections: Qui and Obi Make a Porno





	Day Eighteen: The Cab Driver

There were times when Obi-Wan truly disliked bodyguard duty. 

Partying with young foolish Princes, for example, did not constitute his favourite task. Particularly on their birthdays, particularly when those Princes were _most insistent_ that their Jedi bodyguard take part in the festivities with them. Enforced fun—enforced, _inebriated,_ and possibly slightly drugged fun—was not a problem for a trained Jedi _per se,_ but filtering out that ungodly mess while on duty was a distraction, extra work, and a pain. 

Obi-Wan was usually quite comfortable in nightclubs, but whatever they put in those fog machines, it blended horrifically with the Prince’s favoured fishbowls. All of it left him with a headache, a faint daze, and rotten mood. 

Obi-Wan escorted the young man back to his high-security apartment, all but dumped him into the hands of his regular security—who were, it must be said, quite competent—and wove his way back down sixteen floors and onto a landing pad, where he ordered himself a city taxi at the kiosk. 

Obi-Wan’s weaving was gradually becoming wider, which was cause for some concern. He was tired, Force-damnit. The princeling had dragged him over all of Galactic City in a day. Obi-Wan was fully prepared to swear off ever allowing any royalty to ask favours of him ever again. 

Or, at the very least, the next time Mace gave him the option to refuse, he’d bloody well take it. Diplomatic relations with friendly planets aside, interrupting their rare and precious leave-time hadn’t been worth it, not for this. He could’ve spent the night with Qui-Gon, Force’s sake, and not felt the least bit guilty about it.

The cab appeared quickly, which was a Force-blessed miracle at this time of night. Obi-Wan folded himself down into the seat and slumped. 

“Where to?” a quiet, familiar voice asked him. 

And just like that, Obi-Wan’s foul mood lifted, like it had been blown away by a clear, fresh breeze. He even smiled. 

“The Temple, please,” Obi-Wan said. 

“That’ll be fifty credits.” 

Obi-Wan blinked. _Pricey._ For the most part Jedi were offered a reduced fare. But, then again, Obi-Wan wasn’t in uniform. That would’ve made his role as a bodyguard too obvious, after all. Instead he’d been all decked out in a leather jacket and _very_ tight pants that had drawn Qui-Gon’s eyes like magnets. 

Obi-Wan found himself seized with a sudden fit of mischief. “ _Fifty_ credits? I—I’m afraid I haven’t got fifty credits,” he stammered, eyes wide and innocent. 

Qui-Gon raised an eyebrow. By the gleam in his eye, though, it was almost certain he was about to take Obi-Wan up on his proposition. 

And then Qui-Gon scented the air with a very obvious, _judgemental_ sniff, leaving absolutely no doubt of it. “Had a good night, I take it?” 

No, Obi-Wan decidedly had not, but that look on Qui-Gon’s face and that mild tone never failed to raise a heated blush to his cheeks. He reached for the hatch release. “I’m terribly sorry, I’ll just—um, I’ll go… take the metro—” 

“Absolutely not,” Qui-Gon said sharply. “What if you end up on the wrong metro line by mistake, and in a rough neighbourhood? Galactic City’s a dangerous place at night.” 

“I’ll be fine—”

“No. You’re my last ride of the night, anyway. Temple district, right?” 

Obi-Wan nodded. 

“Temple it is.” As if that settled everything, Qui-Gon engaged the drive and pulled away from the landing pad. 

Obi-Wan pressed himself back into the seat, the very picture of mortification

“I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll pay you what I have—it’s only about seventeen credits, though.” 

Qui-Gon chuckled, and shook his head. “Forget it. You’re hardly the first broke Coruscant U student to land in my cab.” 

“Oh.” It really was very easy to fall into the role of a broke college student after a wild night. He knew how he looked, after all: clean-shaven, dressed for a night out at the clubs—in pants that showed off _all_ his assets—he was lucky to pass for a third-year Art major. 

Obi-Wan let himself relax, just a little. “Oh. Well, thank you. I mean, I’m really grateful, you didn’t have to do this.” 

“Hmm.” Qui-Gon merged neatly into the steady stream of traffic before responding. He barely gave Obi-Wan a sideways glance, eyes tracking the speeders around them. “And I suppose you want to show me exactly how grateful you are?” 

Obi-Wan swallowed. “I… really am _very_ grateful, sir.”

“So, what, you just get into cabs with no credits and offer yourself to the drivers?” Qui-Gon’s smirk turned wide and dangerous. “You should be more careful. Someone could take advantage. Someone… unscrupulous.” 

Gods, but that voice. Qui-Gon could weave a hell of a story, but that voice _did_ things to Obi-Wan—he was lost before the scene was even fully set. Obi-Wan couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine, like a clear bell finding resonance with one vertebrae after another. Not with that large, gentle hand coming to hover a fraction of an inch over his thigh, and slowly gliding up. 

Nor could he help the fact that his cock seemed drawn to the warmth of it. Suddenly those pants were especially tight. Obi-Wan shifted awkwardly, unable to adjust himself. 

“Just imagine,” Qui-Gon went on, “you’re drunk, a little high—definitely not in a position to give consent. You have no money; you went and spent it all on that ungodly cocktail of alcohol and stims. You get into a speeder with a total stranger who’s willing to take you home—for a price.” 

Qui-Gon dropped his hand heavily onto Obi-Wan’s thigh, making him jump, and started kneading. “What do you think that price might be, hm?” 

“I—” Obi-Wan barely bit back a whimper “—I guess it must be fifty credits’ worth?” 

Qui-Gon laughed. “Bright lad. I wonder what a man can get for fifty credits these days. What do you think?” 

Obi-Wan couldn’t think of an answer with Qui-Gon’s hand where it was. He was too busy sinking his teeth into his lower lip, keeping quiet for all he was worth. 

Then Qui-Gon’s hand slid right over his cock, and Obi-Wan’s jaw dropped on a drawn-out, needy moan. 

“Is your mouth worth fifty credits?” Qui-Gon asked, apparently unaffected. His hand moved incessantly, relentlessly. “Or your ass?” 

_Oh Force._ Just that voice, coolly discussing what he was worth—that would be enough to take him apart, it seemed. Obi-Wan flexed his hips, pressing up into Qui-Gon’s palm. 

Qui-Gon, contrary as he was, let go of him—to Obi-Wan’s great dismay—and swerved out of traffic at terrifying speed. 

They came to an abrupt stop in a dark and narrow alleyway, parked neatly in a temporary spot. Qui-Gon cut the engine. The inside light clicked on automatically, throwing his hungry gaze into sharp relief. 

Obi-Wan’s breath was loud in his ears. He felt… exposed; cornered, like prey without any hope of escape. 

And desperately aroused. 

“Well? For fifty credits, I think you’d better show me what I’m getting.”

Obi-Wan shivered. Suddenly he _felt_ every inch the nervous, broke college student. Powerless in the face of his own reckless impulses, and the gorgeous, imperious, definitely unscrupulous man beside him. He dropped his gaze, hands shaking as he started to undo the fastenings of his pants. 

“No smallclothes,” Qui-Gon noted, almost clinically. 

Obi-Wan bit his lip, and blushed harder still. “I—I couldn’t—”

There was a soft _tsk_ much closer to him. “None of that now.” 

Obi-Wan froze. Gentle fingers nudged his chin up and turned his face until he was nearly nose to nose with Qui-Gon again. 

“You have beautiful eyes,” Qui-Gon told him, still in that soft coaxing voice, “and that mouth—” he ran a thumb over Obi-Wan’s lower lip “—I bet you know how to use it.” 

Obi-Wan stared unabashedly, captivated by the way Qui-Gon’s eyes seemed to study every line of his face. For a moment Qui-Gon seemed to focus exclusively on Obi-Wan’s chin, thumb stroking along the cleft. Then he returned his attention to Obi-Wan’s mouth. It took no effort at all for Obi-Wan to tip his head a little, catching Qui-Gon’s gaze. Less than no effort to take that finger into his mouth and prove that he knew exactly what to do with it. 

Qui-Gon’s eyes went dark, his breath a little uneven. “Very good,” he whispered, but pulled his hand away. Obi-Wan trailed after it with a disappointed noise, to Qui-Gon’s gentle amusement. “Eager, aren’t you? Don’t worry.” 

Before Obi-Wan could be thoroughly disappointed, Qui-Gon wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and Obi-Wan found himself drawn into a deep, slow, exploratory kiss. 

The kiss commanded all of Obi-Wan’s attention. It was so thoroughly distracting that Obi-Wan’s hands had trailed away from the fasteners of his pants, and lay useless in his lap. Qui-Gon’s free hand slipped under his loose shirt, pressing warmth against his skin in wide, smooth strokes. That hand followed the lines of his ribs, kneaded at his flank, traced down the musculature of his abdomen and around his navel. Qui-Gon caught every muffled sound that Obi-Wan made in that kiss; just petting him until Obi-Wan forgot he was supposed to be an _anxious_ and aroused mess and could focus only on _aroused._

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when Qui-Gon’s hand dipped even lower, down between Obi-Wan’s legs to curl over his cock and balls. The touch was light, but completely possessive. Qui-Gon pulled back, and the sound that escaped Obi-Wan in that instant seemed obscenely loud in the dark. 

At some point the inside light had gone out. The indicators and the distant streetlights left barely enough to see by. 

Just enough, though, to be able to tell that Qui-Gon’s smirk was back in full force. 

“Is that for me?” he asked, shifting his grip in a fluttering motion. “How very generous.” 

With some absurd trickery of fine manipulation, Qui-Gon undid the remaining buttons on Obi-Wan’s pants and easily drew out his erection with a teasing dry stroke, then cupped his balls again. Obi-Wan shivered, but managed a cocky grin all the same. “Think you can find something here worth fifty credits?” 

“Oh, I intend to get my money’s worth,” Qui-Gon assured him. “But,” he added, hand slipping even lower, fingers skating over Obi-Wan’s perineum and down to skim over his hole, “this seems promising.” 

A thin, needy sound caught in Obi-Wan’s throat, and he arched into Qui-Gon’s hand, grinding against the heel of his palm. He wanted it, gods, his ass ached for it, but— “There’s no room!”

Qui-Gon’s hand closed around his balls again, this time a warning. “Then you’d better get creative, hm?” His grip on Obi-Wan’s neck tightened, and Qui-Gon shook him slightly. “You owe _me_ a fare, boy. You’ll have to work for it.”

Obi-Wan gasped. The fierce rush of arousal, the way his cock twitched, already leaking—“Please, sir,” he whispered, hovering somewhere between eager and embarrassed at his need, “anything. I’ll do anything.” 

Qui-Gon fairly growled. “That’s more like it.” He released Obi-Wan and drew back, utterly unsympathetic in the face of his whimpers of protest. “Now: get those pants off your ass.” 

It was difficult to wriggle free of them; the cool feel of synthleather against Obi-Wan’s bare ass was both uncomfortable and exciting. It took some effort, and some writhing before the pants were down around his thighs. 

When Obi-Wan glanced over, as if looking for direction, he realised Qui-Gon had shifted the driver’s seat as far back as it would go, and was reclining in it like royalty awaiting service. So much better, some distant part of Obi-Wan’s brain decided, than bodyguard duty for a prince’s birthday bash. 

“Take off the jacket,” Qui-Gon murmured. 

Obi-Wan swallowed around the lump in his throat and twisted his way out of the leather. 

“That’s very good,” Qui-Gon allowed. “Still—not quite what I want.” 

A mournful little noise escaped Obi-Wan entirely against his will. 

Qui-Gon laughed softly. “Look at you, so eager to please. Don’t worry. You already do.” 

_Oh—_

“So wet and ready for it,” Qui-Gon went on. “You wanted this, didn’t you? Wanted to get into a cab with a total stranger and do everything he asked, just so you could take cock.” Qui-Gon leered at him. “You don’t know what you’re in for.”

Obi-Wan knew exactly what he was in for, and thrilled at it. 

“I want to see more of you,” Qui-Gon said. “Get those pants down.” 

Obi-Wan wrestled his pants down to a bunched, tight mess around his knees. 

“Lovely. Now lower. Around your ankles.” 

Shuddering, Obi-Wan bent forward to do as he was told. His skin was already sticking to the synthleather. He hissed when his genitals came into contact with the cool surface, then moaned as a hot hand landed on his ass and squeezed at the left cheek. 

“Now this is definitely worth at least fifty credits.” 

When Obi-Wan glanced back, Qui-Gon was leering again. It was a good look on the man, Obi-Wan decided, so long as it was directed only at _him._

“I want you right there,” Qui-Gon tipped his head, gesturing at the space between his spread knees. 

It was a tight fit, even with the seat moved back as far as it would go. Qui-Gon’s long legs ate up the space, and Obi-Wan’s ankles were bound together, impeding him significantly. Finally he managed to cram himself in where Qui-Gon wanted him, on his knees in front of the driver’s seat, pressed between those black-clad, booted legs. 

Only then did it occur to Obi-Wan that the boots were that official pair they almost never wore, meant for special occasions like Senate ceremonies and parades. They were black, polished to high shine, and Obi-Wan had always loved the way they showed his Master’s legs. That Qui-Gon would choose to break in a new pair this way… 

Qui-Gon leaned forward, sinking his fingers into Obi-Wan’s hair. “Perfect.”

Obi-Wan arched into the touch, loving the way Qui-Gon’s hand effortlessly cradled the back of his head. It got him an indulgent smile, still threaded with that deliciously thrilling predatory edge. The combination made something in Obi-Wan’s belly draw tight. 

Qui-Gon’s thumb brushed the edge of his ear. “I want you to get my cock good and wet. And then I’ll fuck you like you need.” 

The sound that escaped Obi-Wan was surely embarrassing, a desperate cut-off whine as he reached up to get at Qui-Gon’s pants. He wanted to get his mouth around his lover’s cock, wanted to taste him, feel that heat heavy on his tongue. Obi-Wan fumbled at the fastenings with shaking fingers, spurred on by the dark chuckle he heard above him. His own erection throbbed between his legs. 

“That’s it,” Qui-Gon murmured, “take it out.” He was combing his fingers through Obi-Wan’s hair, massaging his scalp. 

_You don’t know what you’re in for,_ Qui-Gon had said. 

The words sizzled across his mind like hot oil. Obi-Wan leaned into the part, making a show of swallowing nervously as he spread open the flaps of Qui-Gon’s pants and carefully drew out his partner’s hard length. “Oh,” Obi-Wan breathed out, “you are… magnificent.”

The hand in his hair tightened and shook him again. Obi-Wan’s mouth dropped open and his eyes fell closed; he hadn’t realised how much he loved it. He was going to have to keep it long from now on, at least long enough for Qui-Gon to get a handful and drag him around by it. 

“Pretty words, but they won’t buy you anything, boy,” Qui-Gon growled. He let go abruptly, leaving Obi-Wan’s scalp tingling and fairly singing. “Now get to work.”

“ _Yes,_ sir,” he whispered, and knelt up to lean in closer, until he could bury his face in Qui-Gon’s stomach. 

The position was far from comfortable, but that only compounded the excitement for Obi-Wan. He was bent over the seat at an awkward angle, his abdomen pressed against the edge and his thighs straining. It wouldn’t be long before he felt the strain in his muscles, but that would only fuel the fantasy: that he was a reckless young man about to get what he did and did not want, and he’d love every minute spent cramped and aching and not in control. 

Obi-Wan clutched at Qui-Gon's hips, nuzzling at his partner’s cock and rolling in the thick, beloved scent. He took his time: like a nervous new lover who didn’t quite know how to take that large, beautiful cock, but was just daring enough to try anyway—after stalling for a few precious moments. 

Obi-Wan spent enough time just teasing him with hot breath and quick catlike licks that Qui-Gon groaned in frustration, and seemed about to manhandle him again and order him around. Not that Obi-Wan didn’t want that— _badly_ —but he enjoyed the chance to flip the script, too. He switched tactics just as Qui-Gon’s fingers tightened in his hair again, and bent lower to take one of his balls in his mouth. The punched-out sound he got in response was most gratifying. 

Obi-Wan spent a good few moments there, lavishing his attention on Qui-Gon’s testicles and loving every barely-controlled reaction he got from it. He could see the muscles of Qui-Gon’s thighs jump even through the dark cloth, and each heaving, vocal breath hit him low. 

Obi-Wan let go, finally, like he’d worked up the nerve, and applied himself to Qui-Gon’s cock instead, licking precome from the head and tracing the glans with the tip of his tongue. That first taste—he couldn’t help the hungry sound that fell from his mouth. Gods, he loved this. Role-play all but forgotten, Obi-Wan took the tip into his mouth and sank down, eager for more. 

“Mm, that’s good,” Qui-Gon rumbled above him. “Knew you’d be good at this, with that pretty mouth.” 

A thin keening noise escaped Obi-Wan, as much from the words as from the heavy hand pressing down on the back of his head, ever so slightly forcing him off his rhythm. Obi-Wan forced his fingers to loosen around Qui-Gon’s hips. He ran his hands up to the soft skin of Qui-Gon’s sides and stomach, and down to the inside of his legs, happily rubbing up and down the rough cloth until his palms tingled. 

Qui-Gon hummed in lazy, feline satisfaction. “You love this, don’t you? I want you to tell me how much. Go on, now, don’t hold back.” 

Obi-Wan gasped around that hot length and moaned for him, bearing down with even greater enthusiasm. Even with the blood rushing in his ears he could almost hear Qui’s soft chant— _so good, so hot, Obi-Wan, oh_ —and it warmed him through like sunshine. 

In spite of the aching, cramping muscles in his abdomen and his legs; in spite of his neglected, throbbing cock. It was so good, so good to focus on his partner’s pleasure, on his taste and scent and on the uncontrolled little noises he made, lost in passion. Obi-Wan wanted to be good, oh, he did, but he wanted to appease his own need, too. And every sound, every generous _blurt_ of precome on his tongue—it only built the need to come. 

He wanted to keep touching Qui-Gon, stroking up and down those long, gorgeous legs and up to that warm, soft skin. But he was increasingly torn between that and the ache between his legs that pulsed with every heartbeat. 

Surely he could… just touch himself? He’d never been told he couldn’t… Obi-Wan dropped a hand to his erection and squeezed and—oh, it was so good, he couldn’t stop—he’d never been this hard in his _life—_

He found himself pulled off his partner’s cock, suddenly and roughly. Obi-Wan yelped, falling back, just barely saved from bashing his head on the dash by the merciless grip on his hair. 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Qui-Gon's voice was dangerously soft, quiet in that way that bespoke a terrible fate for whoever crossed him. 

Obi-Wan trembled. 

“Hands,” that dangerous voice commanded, and Obi-Wan dropped his hands to his quivering thighs. 

Something cool nudged at Obi-Wan’s genitals. He realised, suddenly, that it was Qui-Gon’s booted foot. An unbearable flash of arousal fairly bolted up his spine. 

“You think your pleasure has any place here?” 

A large hand wrapped around him, around his aching cock and balls, and closed just tight enough to be a threat. 

“This,” Qui-Gon tugged a little, “is mine until I’ve finished with you. You’ve caused me enough trouble tonight.” 

“Y—yes, sir,” Obi-Wan stammered. 

“Get up here—” 

He was manhandled again, half-dragged, half-lifted onto the driver's seat. Obi-Wan ended up precariously balanced, with his knees around Qui-Gon’s hips and not much room between his head and the cab ceiling. Without Qui-Gon’s hands on him, he had absolutely no leverage. Obi-Wan tried to shift, stretching his feet, trying to at least reach the seat with his toes. 

There was a resounding smack against Obi-Wan’s ass. He stopped squirming. 

“Take your shirt off,” Qui-Gon growled. 

Obi-Wan did, feeling his nipples tighten in the cool air all at once. Pants open and around his ankles, shirt and jacket lost somewhere in the dark of the cab—gods, he couldn’t imagine the mortification if someone were to get curious about the lonely nighttime cab parked in a temporary spot in this specific blind alley. 

Qui-Gon’s hands were on his ass, kneading and spreading his cheeks. Obi-Wan loved the way it stretched the delicate skin around his hole. 

“I’ve been thinking about this ass since I saw you at the pickup,” Qui-Gon was saying, “how tight and hot you’d be.” 

A finger brushed against his rim and pressed in, barely an intrusion. Obi-Wan gasped, curling forward to catch himself with his hands on either side of Qui-Gon's broad shoulders, fingers digging into the seat. 

“You want my cock, don’t you?” Qui-Gon purred into his ear. 

Obi-Wan nodded desperately, unable to speak. 

“Let’s get you opened up.” 

The press of cold, slick fingers against him was and wasn’t a surprise. Even in the depths of a scene, in the midst of fucking him senseless, Qui-Gon was always so careful with him. It was almost overwhelming, how it made him feel: cherished, precious. 

Qui-Gon took his time, stroking up and down Obi-Wan’s cleft, circling his hole. It gave Obi-Wan time to ease himself back from the edge a little. Qui-Gon dipped into him, teasing with fingertips only. He kept teasing until Obi-Wan’s hips twitched back and he slipped in to the first knuckle almost by accident. 

Obi-Wan opened easily on those large fingers, loving the feel of them rubbing against his channel. Qui-Gon seemed to be avoiding his prostate, as if he knew it wouldn’t take much to bring Obi-Wan off right now. Instead he took his hand away every now and then, leaving Obi-Wan empty for a few seconds at a time only to come back with more lube. At two fingers, he danced tantalisingly close to that spot that made Obi-Wan’s entire body light up, but pulled back to play with his rim. 

At three fingers, Obi-Wan tried desperately to keep him in every time he withdrew. 

Qui-Gon turned his head, pressing his lips to Obi-Wan’s temple. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered. 

Obi-Wan’s mouth was dry as a desert, and no amount of swallowing would help. “Please,” he hissed back, voice breaking, “I want your cock. Give it to me, sir, please. You said you’d fuck me like I need, I—please fuck me.”

“Now tell me how much you want it,” Qui-Gon rumbled, dark with promise. 

Right at that moment Qui-Gon curled his fingers inside him, and Obi-Wan could manage was an inarticulate, guttural moan. 

“Come here—”

Qui-Gon roughly grasped Obi-Wan’s legs and dragged him higher. Obi-Wan half expected to feel that hot mouth on him, but instead Qui-Gon shifted around until he could press the tip of his cock to Obi-Wan’s hole. 

The position was terribly limited. The immediate problem was that Obi-Wan’s pants were still frustratingly in the way. Even with his heels pressed against his ass, weight balanced on hands and kneecaps, he couldn’t take in nearly as much of Qui-Gon as he wanted. He couldn’t spread his legs, and his hole felt tight around what little he could take of Qui-Gon’s cock—gods, it wasn’t enough. The rapid, shallow thrusts stretched and stimulated his rim in the best way, but he needed more— _so much_ more. 

Obi-Wan twisted his feet again, struggling with a fresh burst of determination. Within moments there was a telltale rippling _pop_ of stitches breaking, but Obi-Wan was too far gone to care. Qui-Gon swore and flicked his hand sharply. The constricting cloth loosened, one of Obi-Wan’s feet slipping free—and he sank down, taking every inch of Qui-Gon’s length with a deep sigh of satisfaction. 

A quick, sharp slap to his ass had him jerking bolt upright, body cinching tight around the hot length inside him. 

“If you want to get fucked, you’ll have to work for it,” Qui-Gon growled. “And you won’t get to come until and unless I say.” 

Obi-Wan huffed, breathless, and gave a subtle twist of his hips, just to see Qui-Gon undone for a change. 

Qui-Gon let his head fall back with a low moan. “ _Force,_ Obi-Wan!” he rasped. 

Obi-Wan froze, startled and a little concerned by Qui-Gon so suddenly breaking character. 

Qui-Gon was staring at him, a fire in his eyes. _“Ride me._ ”

 _Perfectly_ undone, Obi-Wan thought, grinning, and did exactly as he was told. 

They didn’t last long after that. Qui-Gon must have decided that he’d had enough of his sleazy role and let a bit more warmth into his touch, sitting up to reach even more of Obi-Wan. He spent a long moment running his hands over Obi-Wan’s chest and sides, pressing open-mouthed kisses wherever he could get at. 

Then Qui-Gon dropped one hand to Obi-Wan’s long-neglected erection and brought him off with a few tight and wonderful strokes. Obi-Wan came, gasping, frozen in an acute arch. Qui-Gon followed him over the edge in seconds, the sound of his pleasure a low, almost subterranean rumble. 

Sticky, sweaty, and sated, Obi-Wan collapsed onto him, forcing what little breath Qui-Gon had caught back out of the man. Qui-Gon’s arms instantly came up to wrap around him, one hand gently settling in to trace the furrow of his spine, the other resting securely on the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck. And then Qui-Gon was kissing him, deep, slow kisses full of tenderness and a different, less frantic kind of need. It warded off the chill as their bodies cooled: those heavy, purposeful strokes along his bare skin; long fingers molding the muscles of his neck and the back of his head; those patient, thorough kisses that made his head spin. 

They drifted. It was entirely possible they’d even dozed off a little, before a—deeply unwelcome—cramp in Obi-Wan’s leg roused him again. He winced, tried to straighten the offending limb as best as possible, accidentally prodding Qui-Gon in the attempt. 

Qui-Gon made a noise of complaint, but then he reached for Obi-Wan’s leg and sent a warm pulse of the Force through the aching muscle. 

Obi-Wan hummed, satisfied, and nestled back into him. “I am never cutting my hair again.” 

Qui-Gon’s chest shook with silent laughter, jostling him. Obi-Wan nipped at the man’s shoulder in retaliation. Evidently, Qui-Gon decided that the best way to handle this was to kiss him again. Fortunately, Obi-Wan happened to agree. 

It was another few moments before they did anything more. Obi-Wan was tracing random patterns on Qui-Gon’s skin, listening to his calming heartbeat. 

“We should get back to the Temple,” Obi-Wan said on a sigh. He made no effort to move, though. 

Qui-Gon’s hum was equally noncommittal, but his presence had gone still and contemplative. Obi-Wan turned his head up, curious. “What is it, Qui?”

Qui-Gon didn’t answer immediately. When he did, the words were surprisingly tentative, in fact. 

“Was that—too much? That character,” Qui-Gon asked. 

Obi-Wan shifted up on his elbows to get a better look at Qui-Gon’s face. “Not at all,” he said, “I would have let you know if anything had pushed too far, you know that.” 

Qui-Gon watched him carefully, studying him. Then he nodded once, accepting. “All right.” 

Obi-Wan however, wasn’t entirely convinced. He folded his hands over Qui-Gon’s chest and rested his chin on them. “Can I ask what brought this on?”

Qui-Gon’s eyes flickered aside, an obvious sign of discomfort. But it wasn’t a no, either. 

“The club,” Qui-Gon said at last, which wasn’t exactly enlightening. “I was there, as your backup. The longer I watched, the more I wondered whether you were there to be his bodyguard, or to make sure he didn’t target someone else and cause an Embarrassing Incident for the Royal Family.” Qui-Gon grimaced. “I know you can take care of yourself, but… I wouldn’t have wanted him anywhere near you.” 

Obi-Wan had been entirely mission-focused on keeping his charge from earning himself a royal case of alcohol poisoning or excessive property damage. He hadn’t even kept track of how many drinks or stims he’d been ‘offered’ in the last few hours. Obi-Wan definitely hadn’t considered what that sort of quantity might do to baseline Human, someone unable to filter out toxins with the Force. 

“I see,” Obi-Wan said softly. 

Qui-Gon was still watching him with that careful, closed-off expression. Obi-Wan’s chest went tight, overfull with a bittersweet feeling, and he leaned forward to kiss away that guarded look. 

“I loved every minute of it, Qui. All of it.” 

“I didn’t hurt you?”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “No. And I’m glad you were there to watch my back. The best part of this whole day was coming back to you.” 

Qui-Gon sighed, and held him close. 

Eventually, the real world started to intrude again. Obi-Wan began to miss his shirt somewhat, though he wasn’t looking forward to tracking down all the pieces of clothing he’d dropped somewhere in the dark. Maneuvering in the tight space now lacked a certain appeal. Qui-Gon laughed at him and offered to bribe him with kisses, but Obi-Wan knew, with absolute certainty, that that would be completely counterproductive. 

Qui-Gon found ways to kiss him anyway—while handing him a shoe, or ‘straightening out’ his hair. Once they were as presentable as they could make themselves in the dark—more or less—and on opposite sides of the cab again, Qui-Gon started the motor and the lights turned on again. 

Obi-Wan grinned. 

Qui-Gon was a sight: hair hopelessly mussed, lips red and raw, shirt spattered with Obi-Wan’s come. Obi-Wan had probably fared little better, given the way Qui-Gon’s eyes darkened. For one thing, his shirt was inside-out. And then there was that distinct feeling of stubble-burn that had Obi-Wan almost missing his beard. 

And then he remembered the tear in his pants. Obi-Wan looked down. 

“That’s too bad,” Qui-Gon said. “It’s a good look on you.”

Obi-Wan shot him a mild glare, to no effect. “We can find another pair.” 

“I suppose we could, at that.” Qui-Gon leaned in closer suddenly. “I want to see you walking through the Temple like that.”

Obi-Wan shivered, both at the tone and at the way his cock twitched with definite interest. Gods, and he’d thought he’d been worn out for the day. 

An erection would be… _inconvenient,_ with that tear where it was. 

Obi-Wan cleared his throat, staring straight ahead. “I think we should get back as soon as possible, don’t you?” 

Qui-Gon chuckled, and slid back into his seat. He was just about to pull out of the spot when something on the windscreen caught Obi-Wan’s eye. 

“Hang on, is that—?” Obi-Wan squinted at it. “Is that a—a twenty-credit chip?”

Qui-Gon wordlessly stepped out of the cab and plucked it from the hood. He stared at the thing in his hand for a moment, then got back in and passed it to Obi-Wan with a baffled expression. 

It was, indeed, a twenty-credit chip. Obi-Wan snorted, then fell back in his seat laughing helplessly, covering his face to muffle a long and heartfelt groan. 

Qui-Gon laughed quietly along with him. 

Back in the Temple they narrowly avoided running into other Jedi in the halls twice, Obi-Wan walking stiffly the whole way to their quarters and flushing an embarrassed and yet equally aroused red. The moment the door to their quarters shut behind them Qui-Gon pressed him to the wall and took him in hand, and brought him off between slow and gentle kisses. The contrast between this and their earlier encounter made it all the sweeter, and Obi-Wan sank into every kiss like it was the only thing keeping him from floating away. 


End file.
